


everything else

by vallhalla



Series: The Fabulous Life and Times of Dallon Weekes [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Drabble, Dreams, Fluff, M/M, Playing Piano, Playing piano during the wee hours of the morning, The best Brendon trope, aka my favorite piano piece ever, the moonlight sonata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:46:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vallhalla/pseuds/vallhalla
Summary: Brendon isn't sleeping, which means the rest of the apartment isn't either.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and ye shall receive. This fic takes place sometime after the end of For Sale: Heart, Never Used. But that fic doesn't necessarily have to have been read before hand. But it might be useful to know why fifteen people live together. 
> 
> special thanks:
> 
> Aidan and Ellie, who still will never read this,
> 
> Kasey, Holly, Sarah, Esmee, CJ, Yuumi and everyone else in Dallon's LEGAL Nudes, the best groupchat i've ever been in,
> 
> and everyone that read,liked, commented, and bookmarked For Sale. You guys are the bomb dot net.

Dreams are really weird, when you think about them long enough. The ancient Greeks and Romans believed that dreams were what connected us to the gods and were _convinced_ they had prophetic power. Freud believed that what you dreamed showed repressed emotions and thoughts. Nowadays, most scientists think dreams help us process emotions by encoding and constructing memories of them. What we see and experience in our dreams might not necessarily be real, but the emotions attached to these experiences certainly are. Our dream stories try to strip the emotion out of a certain experience by creating a memory of it. This way, the emotion itself is no longer active. So dreaming is important because when we don’t process our emotions, especially negative ones, personal worry and anxiety increases.

Freud also thought all of your dreams had sexual undertones, but that doesn’t explain why I had recurring dreams as a child where I would jump off a train, naked, and be chased by velociraptors through corn fields.

Right now, gentle piano floats through the air, and I’m reminded of smoke and clouds and steam and the like. The medley is soft and barely there, only something a musician could pick out. It’s mournful, almost. Hauntingly beautiful. The piano is out of tune from lack of use- but the C-sharp minor has never sounded sadder. There is a wrong note, occasionally, a few pauses here and there. It’s still perfect.

Beethoven was one sad motherfucker.

I roll over. He is close to the piano, staring intently at the yellowing keys as he plays. His fingers only lift up occasionally, but otherwise stay attached to the ivories. His back is hunched and bare and slightly sweaty, even though I’ve been asleep for what must be a few hours. He looks astoundingly beautiful, with his hair falling in his face and his mouth hanging open. One of his hands jumps up, then back down as he plays a staccato, but the piece does not get faster or more intense. Not yet.

As he moves onto the second movement, I lean my head against my hand. “You’re going to wake up everybody.”

Brendon doesn’t miss a beat as the piece becomes more light hearted and louder. He leans back now, his head leaning to the side to glance at me on the bed. He smiles, and I can just barely make it out, his perfect white teeth and lips forming a cheshire cat smile. “This isn’t any worse than all of the times that Frank and Gerard have woken everyone up.”

I fall onto my back and stare up at the peeling white ceiling. The second movement has already come and gone, the third movement louder and angrier. I can hear the clicking of the old piano’s keys as he moves up and down the keyboard. My poor spinet hasn’t seen any action in a while, she’s probably getting a workout right now.

“Did I wake you up?” Brendon asks as he plays a particularly high trill that doesn’t sound all too pleasing to the ears.

I rub my eyes tiredly, then move a hand to brush hair away from my forehead. “Nah. Bad dream. I’d much rather listen to you.”

Brendon hums, and I can feel his eyes on me. We’re both naked, but I at least have the blankets on. I look over to catch his eyes, and he turns away, the piece falling into a soft sort of silence before picking up again. “Velociraptors again?” I can hear him chuckle to himself.

“It’s not funny,” I say painfully, but a grin is pinching at my cheeks, too. I hear the squeak of the pedestal as Brendon presses it. Brendon is hunched over again, and I can see a few beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face. If I were Mikey, and he was Pete, I’d’ve already pounced onto him. But instead I’m Dallon, and he’s Brendon, and we’re not _that_ sex crazed.

Both of Brendon’s hands shoot up and down at a particularly bouncy part. I lick my lips. Maybe we’re a little sex crazed.

The melody is a rolling thunder again, and I roll over onto my side again so I can properly see him. There’s a nasty build up the piano that I like- then followed by two and a half beats of silence, before he’s back at it again. I feel myself smiling as his fingers run up and down the piano quickly, before slowly coming down again, and then he’s done. My ears are ringing.

I clap, because he’s my boyfriend and he’s beautiful and I can, and burst into giggles as I hear the others that he’s woken up join me. Someone yells “now go back to bed!”, but I can’t tell if it's Ray or Jon or whoever. Brendon beams at me, or at least I think so, the only light in my room coming from the moon outside. He crawls back into bed as I shift to make room for him again. The clapping quiets down, and it’s just us again.

“Beethoven’s fourteenth sonata,” I say, just to say something, “The Moonlight Sonata.”

I feel him nod against my shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep. Nightmare, I think.”

What a dreamy pair we make. “You remember what it was?”

“No.”

So who was right, the ancient civilizations or the scientists?

I press my palm against the back of his neck, gently coursing my fingers through the short hairs that grow there. He keeps saying that he needs a haircut soon, but I like his hair like this. There’s more for me to run my fingers through, and more to pull on as I moan into his ear. More to brush away from his eyes when he’s feeling anxious. More to press my nose into when I’m angry with the world.

He places an open mouthed kiss to my collarbone. I rub my nose against the top of his head, burying my nose into the hair there. He smells like sweat and me and home.

“Why do you think we dream?” Brendon looks up when I ask, looking confused. Probably because he’s usually the one asking the existential questions at- I glance at the clock on top of the piano- four in the morning.

“Our brain is writing a book but can’t decide what genre it wants it to be."

I laugh and kiss him sloppily, before settling back against our pillows. He leans his head against my shoulder, one hand holding tightly onto mine. I like his theory better.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: tenlittle-cockbites
> 
> psa: there will be more in this universe. go ahead and comment or shoot me an ask if you have any ideas or prompts or what have you


End file.
